Cold Comfort
by Rukoh
Summary: The misery of imprisonment and failure brings out a tempest of emotions in Cassidy. But on the bright side, she's not alone.


His eyes, weary with tiredness, stared through the hostile rods of imprisonment.

They'd been trapped in a gloomy jail cell for two days straight. Two days of staring at the same walls, two days of worrying whether Giovanni would bail, and for Butch, two days without cigarettes. Two days prior, a not so flawless scheme had failed and they'd been busted for attempting to con a small town into handing over their Pokemon. Things were inot/i looking bright.

Butch threw his partner a sympathetic glance. She was sat against the wall adjacent to him, knees hugged to her chest, chin resting atop them. Behind bars, she was a shell of her usual self. Spunky Cassidy was replaced by a silent, withdrawn woman. Seeing her so crushed induced similar emotions in Butch.

iShe don't belong in a dump like this/i, he thought to himself, staring at her. It was true. Like a lone flower growing in a barren desert, she didn't fit in. This was home to the scum of the earth. The crooks, the creeps, the psychos. Cassidy, with her shining golden hair, flawless porcelain skin and ethereal perfection just didn't belong.

"Hey," Butch called out gently. He managed to crack a reassuring smile, holding it, despite only getting a split second of eye contact in return. "Cheer up, will ya? We're gonna be outta here in no time. The boss'll bail in a day or two." His words of reassurance did nothing more than cue another painfully awkward silence. "I know you hate this place..."

Cassidy sniffed dismissively. Hate? Understatement. Jail was her virtual hell, the definition of depressing. Misery lingered in the air, time stood still. It sucked every drop of life out of her. iNo/i amount of pep talks from her partner could come close to lifting her spirits, not in here. In fact, it irritated her. Each feigned smile, each word of reassurance, each attempt to strike up conversation. It was a transparent and pathetic act.

"Butch, will you do me a favour?"

"Sure, anythin'," he replied, submissive as ever.

"Shut your mouth and keep it shut," she ordered coldly, dismissing him as if he was a fawning little slave she had to deal with. "Time's going to pass by a hell of a lot slower if I'm forced to listen to that..._voice_ for hours on end."

He blinked, a scowl soon stealing the hurt look. "Well 'scuse me for tryin' to make you feel better. Bitch." He made sure to mutter the last word, eyes downcast. "Why'd you gotta make things difficult? I ain't over the moon about bein' here either, yanno. We're in the same boat."

"Sorry for hurting your feelings," she said, words oozing mockery. She certainly wasn't the only one who's mood hit rock bottom when they were locked up. Butch, plus a few days without nicotine, equalled an extremely agitative Rocket. "Let's just stop talking. You drive me fucking crazy."

"Ditto."

The cell was filled with a tense silence. One too uncomfortable to hold for long.

"I can't _stand_ this hell hole," Cassidy grumbled.

"Thought we weren't talkin'."

"To each other. I was talking to myself."

He smirked and circled his index finger at the side of his head- until she threw a death glare his way, and he snapped back into submission. "Sorry."

"Whatever."

"Lighten up a lil', Cass," he begged, not a hint of hope in his weary voice. "C'mon, you ain't alone in this. I hate it in here as much as you do. Hey, put yourself in my boots, I haven't had a smoke in two fuckin' days. These cravings are_ killing_ me."

"For gods sake, Butch. Is that _all_ you care about?" She rolled her eyes at his selfishness, a frown clouding her features. "I'm more worried about the fact that we're failing at our careers and might not be so lucky to get out of here this time."

"Yeah, that too."

"I can't stand it. Just, the thought of this being permanent makes me sick. What if Giovanni _doesn't_ bail? What if we've blown it? I mean, screwing up's been our most pronounced skill recently, so you couldn't blame him. And that'd be it, _this_, forever."

Butch sensed a rarely heard disparity in her voice. He wanted to do something. Hold her and remind her they'd been here a million times before and it had always turned out fine in the end, and even if there was a chance it didn't, they'd still be together and he'd look after her. He chickened out though, knowing she might snap and accuse him of patronizing her or being stupid. "I feel ya, Cass. Heh, I'd think up an escape plan if it wasn't for the fact that they're keepin' a close eye on us after last time."

"Right. So, in other words, you've got nothing- surprise surprise. If you don't have anything useful to say, just keep your mouth shut." She dropped her head against her knees, saying no more.

Butch's shoulders slumped miserably. He_ did_ feel useless. It wasn't always like this. There'd been a few occasions in jail when they'd both managed to stay positive and talk the hours away, playing dumb little games like I spy or rehearsing excuses for Giovanni. This wasn't one of those times. He stared at her from across the cell, eyes weary. Weariness turned to confusion when he noticed her shoulders jerking. Then he realized.

"Hey, don't cry."

"I'm _not_," came her callous reply. She lifted her head to stare him down, hoping he wouldn't notice the fierce glare was blurred by tears. "See?"

"It's okay. Cry if you wanna."

She bared her teeth at him, tears nullifying her intended fierceness. "That's rich, coming from the man who's afraid to show his emotions."

Butch shrugged. "I got a tough-guy reputation to keep up."

"...You're kidding me, right? Nobody thinks you're tough, loser. They just laugh at your pathetic, desperate attempts to _be_ tough."

Another shrug. This time, an agitated one. "I'd rather be laughed at than despised," he replied, fixing her with an icy glare. Time to give her a taste of her own poison. "Everyone back at HQ hates your guts, and you delude yourself into thinkin' they adore you. Lemme tell ya, if I had a buck for every time I overheard someone talkin' about how much of an evil whore you are, I'd be a billionaire."

Cassidy scoffed and jutted her nose in the air. "And I'm supposed to care, why?" she retorted, hoping to sound dismissive, like she didn't care. Her voice came out in a dejected wobble.

"Hurts, huh?"

She kept her head up, blinking back a few tears and chewing her trembling bottom lip. "They talk about you too, you know."

"The things they say about me ain't half as bad as what they say 'bout you."

"They say you're a pussywhipped loser."

"They say you're a self-infatuated bitch with your head rammed up your own ass."

"They say you sound like an old frog with lung disease."

"They say you look like a cheap porn star."

"They don't remember your_ name_."

"They only remember _your_ name 'cause of how much they loathe you."

"I don't_ care_! Just...shut up!" A sob escaped her as she buried her face into the crook made between her knees and chest.

Butch frowned and tore his gaze away from her. It was ridiculous. Sure, it was perfectly fine for her to dish out the insults; she never gave a second thought to mocking him day in, day out. But challenge her, and she suddenly became the helpless victim. She was a great actress, he'd give her that much.

He sneered, chancing another peek at her from the corner of his eye and...damn it. Guilt swept over him. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to back down and apologize for giving her what she deserved; just that being stuck in a cell was depressing enough without the never-ending conflict between them. With some trepidation, he gulped down his pride, picked himself up from where he'd been sitting and shuffled over to her side of the cell. He sat cross-legged down beside her, waiting for some form of acknowledgement. She kept her face stubbornly concealed.

"Sorry," he grunted. No reply- but a few doleful sniffs. He hesitated, lifting his arm out of his lap and, with apprehension, draped it around her shoulders. His tense body relaxed when a few seconds passed without her shaking him off or telling him to leave her be. He gently rubbed his gloved hand up and down her back.

"...I'm sorry," she eked out, voice cracking. She needed to cry. Because she hated being a prisoner, she hated the lurking possibility that Giovanni might not ever come for them, she hated herself for flipping out at Butch every time he spoke. So she stopped choking back sobs and threw herself against her partner, face pressed into his chest, allowing herself to cry as quietly as possible.

Baffled by this sudden outburst of emotion, Butch could only return the embrace. He gathered her in his arms and held her close. Her sobs seemed to increase. "Shhh...it's uh, it's alright, Cass," he assured her. _What_ he was assuring her of, he wasn't exactly sure.

"I'm a failure," she whimpered. She buried her face deeper into his shirt, catching a whiff of the strong cologne and cigarette smoke that lingered on him. It was surprisingly comforting, being in his arms; and odd that, at this moment, she didn't really mind that he was witnessing her weaker side.

"_You're_ a failure? C'mon now, that ain't true," he said, giving her a gentle squeeze within his arms. "If you're lookin' for someone to blame for all our failed missions, I'm your guy."

"I can't blame you for _everything_."

He sighed. Then brought his lips to her ear. "You can't blame_ yourself_ for everything either," he whispered. Without even considering it, he moved his lips to her cheek and planted a gentle but firm kiss there, holding it for a second. As he pulled away, arms still wrapped loosely around her body, he smiled. "Okay?"

Cassidy stared at him. Him, and his roguish smile. It was kind of cute, in a...quirky, smug way. She felt herself blushing from his small but sweet gesture and absent-mindedly brought a hand to the cheek he'd kissed, stroking it. Did he really just...? Eyes still glazed over with tears, she nodded. "Y-yeah..." She shook her head, as if snapping herself out of something, and returned his smile. "Yeah, sorry. I don't know what came over me. Just...this place rattles with my emotions."

"I know," he said sympathetically, eyes roaming the dingy cell. "You don't belong here, ya know."

"Don't I?"

"Hell no," he said, gruff voice gentle. "Look at ya. You're...well, you're Cassidy. Smart, confident, talented...beautiful. You're a zillion times better than this dump." He cast his brown eyes down and swiftly hung his head before she could see him blushing.

He'd actually been too late, and she'd already noticed the pinkness flood to his cheeks. A smirk tweaked her lips as she brushed her bangs away from her eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Butch," she said matter-of-factly. "We're both better than this."

He scoffed, managing to lift his gaze. "Not me. I'm a good for nothin'."

She arched an eyebrow. If he was fishing for compliments, she was taking the bait. "I don't think so. You're Butch. Strong, funny, reliable..." She paused and awkwardly cleared her throat. "And...somewhat easy on the eye, I suppose. Maybe."

Butch laughed, knowing that was probably the best he was going to get from her. Ever. "Aw, shucks," he cooed in his husky voice, feigning abashment and giving her shoulder a playful shove. "I think that's the first time you've ever said anything nice to me."

"Yeah, well make the most of it, bozo. It's a one off. I don't want to be held responsible for an increase in the size of your already stupendous ego," she reprimanded light-heartedly, poking his chest.

"Gotcha," he chuckled.

"And...thanks, as well. I guess." Her smirk changed to a more sincere expression as she glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes. She bobbed her head gratefully. "For...I dunno, putting up with me."

He smiled and winked. "S'what I'm here for."


End file.
